No one goes to Fangjiahetou Ancient Village for breakfast at eight in the morning.
Along a mountain path paved with blue stone slabs, a few passersby brush past each other. The young man's shop hasn't opened yet, and the elderly vendors selling goods on both sides of the road are rarely busy.
At the corner, a hundred meters up the mountain, an old man sits leaning against the wall, with one leg crossed over the other, his slippers dangling. Next to him, on a stone bench, are all his possessions.
In an orange plastic box, there are nine homemade brooms; in a white foam box, there are freshly picked pumpkins; on a small stool at his feet, there is a basket of small figs.
The old man pulls out a deck of cards from the pocket of his slightly faded blue suit. What game is he playing? Unknown.
Diagonally across from the old man's stall is a ceramic craft shop. The shop owner, a woman from the north, has a plump figure and wears a black qipao-style dress. She lets the customers pick items themselves, with prices marked below, and a QR code for payment visible when they look up.
She herself carries a box of miscellaneous items and a bouquet of dried flowers as she steps out. Is there no one in the shop? Customers can help themselves.
The shop owner's business isn't limited to this ceramic craft shop; a hundred meters up, she also runs a small restaurant, where a local aunt cooks local dishes on a traditional stove, which is quite popular with tourists.
The shop owner catches her breath and stops in front of the old man's stall: "Old grandpa, how much are the pumpkins?"
The old man quickly puts away the cards, stands up, and says, "Ten yuan for three."
The shop owner takes a look and says, "I'll take them all, forty yuan, is that okay?"
The old man is confused, his murky eyes revealing an expression of understanding the impermanence of life, caught in the anxiety of mathematical calculations.
The shop owner thinks he might be hard of hearing: "Old grandpa, I want all these pumpkins, forty yuan, right?"
The old man isn't sure if the money matches the number of pumpkins and instinctively shakes his head, "Not right."
The shop owner places her miscellaneous items and plastic flowers at her feet, steps forward, and starts counting the pumpkins with her hands adorned with a beaded bracelet.
"Old grandpa, look closely, three in a group, I'll count for you," her hands are indeed large, her thumb and pinky spread apart to hold three pumpkins together.
"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, and two more, right? So, forty yuan, you give me two small pumpkins extra."
The old man's brain races, hunched over at the roadside. He doesn't nod; he might play cards well, but this calculation isn't clear yet.
The shop owner decides to help him sort it out again, "Old grandpa, look, ten yuan for three, right?" She pushes three pumpkins to one side of the foam box, "Is it ten yuan?" The old man nods.
She pushes another ten yuan worth, the old man nods again, then pushes another ten yuan worth, the old man nods again, and finally, after pushing the last ones, two are left. The old man finally understands, grinning with his toothless mouth, "There are still two."
The shop owner wipes her sweat, "You give me those two for free, I didn't pick any, I'll take them all. To be honest, I'm not eating these pumpkins; I'm taking them for styling."
The old man doesn't understand what styling means. Why buy so many pumpkins if not for eating? But that's not something he should think about; he stares at the extra two pumpkins. Should he give them or not?
After some internal calculations, the old man nods, "Forty yuan, you can take them all."
The shop owner wipes her hands and pulls out her phone from her exquisite handbag, "Is mobile payment okay?"
The old man's murky eyes cloud over again; he has no phone and certainly no QR code for payment. He points to a shop in front.
The shop owner understands, swaying her figure to the front shop, "Auntie, auntie," she waves her hand inside, "Auntie, I'll scan forty yuan, please give it to that old grandpa later."
The aunt looks like all the other women with permed hair wearing floral blouses, stretching her neck: "Which old grandpa?"
The shop owner raises her hand to point ahead, bending over and mimicking the old man's posture. The aunt understands, goes into the shop, and takes out two twenty-yuan bills from the counter.
The aunt waves the money at the old man. He immediately gets up and shuffles over, taking it with both hands. The shop owner picks up her miscellaneous items, dried flowers, and a box of pumpkins and heads towards the small restaurant up the mountain.
The old man pulls out a plastic bag from the side of his clothes, inside is a yellowed stainless steel lunch box. He opens it to find two five-yuan bills, one ten-yuan bill, and one fifty-yuan bill. He puts the two twenty-yuan bills inside, then takes them all out to count again before putting them back in.
After wrapping the lunch box in layers with the plastic bag, he tucks it into his coat. He takes out the cards, flipping them one by one and placing them on the stone bench, with no logical connection between the cards; all the rules and gameplay are in the old man's mind.
By the time we head down the mountain, the old man is counting money again.